Sortulissa
by PoolstripeTheCat
Summary: Everyone has been picked for their chaw, and Soren has been chosen for the collier and weather interpretation, which was lead by-oh no-Ezylryb! But what shocks him the most is that Otulissa was also in his chaw, and sometimes it takes a break down for new emotions to arise.


"Who wants to hear another wet poop joke?" Twilight's golden eyes were now amused slits; Gylfie was guffawing, a laugh that was practically twice her size; Digger was wheezing and clutching his gizzard, and Mrs. Plithiver, Soren's old nest maid, was shaking her head in disgust, but allowed them continue. Hukla, hukla, she would say, which was nest maid speak for "young owls with be young owls."

But Soren was stuffed; tonight, Cook had especially gone all out, making tea from the ripest, juiciest milkberries, with an acorn crumble on top of toasted mice, and a double-layer milkberry cake with a milkberry frosting and plump, dewy milkberry resting in the center of the delectable cake. But Soren was stuffed and First Light was nearing; so he had allowed Twilight and Digger to stay. They didn't even notice him get up. But Gylfie, Soren's best friend, looked at him with alarm. "I'm going to go to our hollow," Soren said. "Going to rest up, because tomorrow is my big chaw test. Ezylryb would go yoicks angry if I'm late." Gylfie fluffed up her plumage and settled it, the way she did when she was getting up from a perch of some sort. "I'll come too," She volunteered. Soren shook his head. "You have fun. I'll be okay, Gylf." Gylfie stared at him long and hard, and then she relaxed. She had a feeling in her gizzard Soren wasn't lying. "Good light, Gylf. Digger. Twilight." Soren called. But no one heard.  
...

As Soren traveled down the endless, winding passage ways of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, he heard weeping. And not simple, tiny weeping; like full blown, bull horn, earth-quaking weeping, enough to make Soren shudder. He tracked the noise. Surprisingly, it stopped at Otulissa's hollow. He poked his head in, and he was blown away by the sight. Refined, big-worded, teacher pleasing Otulissa was sobbing, her plumage fluffed up in either supreme rage or great sadness, liquid leaking from her usually shiny black eyes. "Otulissa?" Soren whispered.

Otulissa's head snapped up. In a split second her plumage and feather magically turned from damp and unkempt to sleek and authority-like. Her tears dried, and from the crumpled heap of sobs and tears rose Otulissa in her true form. The Spotted Owl towered to her full height; her feathers ruffled in that ever so slightly way that made her look like a true Ga'Hoole warrior, her talons seeming to gleam in the milky pale dawn rising upon them; her damp eyes now so icily fierce, so black, so dead and cold, like pure black voids, well.

It could make a bird go yeep.

"Please tell me what you are doing in my hollow, Soren." Soren sighed. Otulissa was back. The one moment he actually felt sympathy for the pestering Spotted Owl and she returned to her hoity-toity ways. "Forget it." Soren sighed, and his feathers seemed to ache with fatigue. He had no business arguing with Otulissa, and it was no worth; he should be well asleep by now. As his talons clacked off in the now silent hollow, he heard the faintest stirring, the tiniest whisper, tinier than a mouse. "You don't care."

It was Otulissa.

Soren suddenly forgot all the treachery Otulissa had done, because now she was as feeble and fragile as an owlet. And... She reminded him of Eglantine. And his job was to cradle and nurture his baby sister. So now he had to at least try and nurture Otulissa. Soren sighed, and, taking tiny steps, he reentered Otulissa's hollow and, intentionally settled himself in Otulissa's bed, which contained her soft, pretty down and moss patches. After realizing he called Otulissa's down pretty, he gave himself a confused look, but brushed it off.  
"What is it?" He asked, a bit gruffly. Otulissa didn't seem to notice his harsh tune; she settled herself and spilled her story.

Soren knew it was going to drag on for quite a while; with all of Otulissa's references of her ancient ancestors which were supposedly legends.  
His interest slowly faded and he found himself studying Otulissa closely. Of course, he saw her all the time in chaw practices, but he's never actually looked at her. Like those nice chocolate rings that ever so carefully circled her exquisite ebony eyes, making those rings sort of like a tree that had been chopped in half. He never noticed how soft her feathers looked, and how they aligned themselves just so, like a work of art. Nice from seeing Digger's usually ruffled, unkempt feathers. And that adorable little rustling sound her feathers made (Barn owls had a spectacular sense of hearing; Soren could hear the rustling of a ground squirrel forty feet in the air.), when Otulissa shifted. It was like white linen rubbing against smooth iron, or some sandalwood; or maybe when the wind whistled against loose plumage. "I'm just really upset I didn't get chosen for the search and rescue chaw." And as Soren stared into her black eyes, their eyes locked, and Soren could see genuine disappointment in those usually cold black voids.

She was no longer hoity-toity, she was no longer the stuck up ryb-pleaser he, Gylfie, Digger and Twilight had joked about ever so often. He saw a beautiful Spotted Owl who tried so hard to convince herself she was special that, in private moments like this, she would go stark raving yoicks and break down, like how she spilled her disappointment to Soren.

Soren suddenly and the most strongest urge to just lean in and kiss Otulissa. He has never flirted with her before, nor her him. But he felt in his gizzard Otulissa was experiencing the same peculiar urges. "Soren," Otulissa said quietly. It wasn't a whisper, it wasn't a hoot, it was just a soft, shy voice which made Soren's gizzard lurch, like when he captured a mouse and was going to deliver the death blow. "Soren, I think I love you." Otulissa whispered, leaning in close to his ears, so not even the keenest mouse could hear her say it.

Soren's gizzard throbbed in pain, pleasure, excitement, and anxiety. Otulissa continued. "It's just that when I'm around you my gizzard buzzes a bit and my heart throbs like it never has before. I've never swooned in my entire life but I can promise you that late in day, when you and everyone else are sleeping, I keep myself up just thinking about you." She leaned forward enough for both of their beaks to touch, which was not a kiss, just an affectionate clack. Soren sighed, and his gizzard seemed to stop throbbing so much. He liked this. He thought this was okay. Friendly affection, right?

All he knew was that he didn't want to rush into being mates; that would probably destroy his and Gylfie's friendship, not to mention Digger's and Twilight's. So, as the sky turned a violet hue, preparing for first black, he rustled his feathers. "Come on," he said, and tugged on Otulissa's wing. She seemed surprised. "Where are we going?" Soren sighed. "Anywhere. Anytime. I just want to go with you."


End file.
